The Call of the Deep
by Rainbowrunner01
Summary: Arthur works as a janitor at the local aquarium, for reasons he can't fathom Alfred the resident merman has taken quite a shine to him. But Arthur knows the dangers of the Mer all too well. Meanwhile Alfred's kin are desperate to find their stolen brother, by any means necessary and have come to take back what belongs to them...and Alfred isn't the only one they're looking for.


Title: The Call of the Deep

Rating: T (May go up)

Pairings: UK/US Slow-build. I've never actually written yaoi so...first try? Could possibly be other pairings later?

A/N: Yeah this story is a result of reading way too many mermaid fics, Pirates of the Caribbean marathons and a general love for the dynamic between America and England. This is very AU, the story takes place in a quasi-modern steampunk world, with general helpings of magic, merfolk and possibly pirates.

Enjoy.

* * *

 **The Call of the Deep**

 **One—The Plea**

* * *

 _Come, come_

 _Come to the deep_

 _Where treasures lie and fishes sleep_

 _Down, down_

 _To the depths below_

 _Where the free of heart and the fearless go_

 _Can you hear, can you hear_

 _The ocean's call_

 _As it bids you back_

 _And into the depths you fall_

* * *

Tap

Tap

Tap

Three knocks in quick succession.

Knuckles went white as they clenched around the wooden handle of the mop. His green eyes stayed firmly fixed to the floors, concentrating on the head of the mop as he dragged it in a uniform motion, back and forth across the flooring. The movement was lulling, comfortable, easily muscle memory after a countless many hours he had spent preforming the same task.

Tap

Tap

Tap

Always three. The knocks always came in three consecutive taps, evenly spaced, _always_ three. The knocks had a hollow muted sound to them, almost as if they had sounded and traveled through a substance thicker than air…water.

He didn't look, never once turning his eyes from his task, he wouldn't— _refused_ —to look, for looking meant giving it acknowledgment. And if he did that he would quickly loose what little nerve he had left. The reflection of the lights twinkled softly in the soapy water he spread evenly across the ground. The artificial lights hanging above had been considerably dimmed after the aquarium closed its doors for the night. The low lighting coupled with the internal illumination coming from the tanks that lined either side of the walkway, cast an unearthly glow. There was almost utter silence, other than the swish of the mop and the humming of the filters, but they quickly faded into the background as another indistinguishable drone.

The tapping came again, harder and slightly more insistent.

Gritting his teeth, he ignored it—as he always did.

Noticing the mop was no longer producing water—keeping his eyes locked to the ground—he took the few necessary steps backwards to reach the bucket. Bushy brows furrowed, the soapy water was looking rather brown and murky. Nearly due for a change. Much to his relief, this section of the aquarium was nearly done, then he could return home, his nightly janitorial duties finished for another night.

Section E of the Aquarium was always the final section to be cleaned. The 'E' stood for exclusive, Section E housed only the rarest exhibits, only the most exotic of creatures dwelled here. From the grotesque deep-dwellers that lived in the pitch black—nightmarish teeth and spines—to the colourful and glamorous fish of the tropical waters, nothing in section E was dull. And of course housing such rarities meant that Section E was rarely open to the public, only those with deep pockets, connections or researchers regularly tread the walkways. And on the rare occasions that it did open its doors to the common folk, the section quickly became so full that there was barely any room to breathe.

And then there were the janitors, despite the fact that many would jump at the chance to be around such curiosities—in the daylight hours at least—Section E did not hold quite the same appeal at night. The aquarium had been hard-pressed to find someone willing—or foolish enough—to brave the gloomy atmosphere of the section after dark. There were apparently rumors that Section E was haunted—whispers of water pipes bursting, mysterious accidents—eight people had already resigned from the job in the last year alone.

Thus he had been hired.

Someone desperate enough to work the graveyard shift in a gloomy supposedly haunted section…alone.

And he had been desperate…so, so very desperate.

He liked to consider himself as quite stalwart, pragmatic and level-headed, not one easily spooked. A job was a job after all, it payed well and got food on the table. And that was all that mattered in the end, the pay, mattered enough that he would brave his two greatest fears—deep water and _them._ In actual fact the job payed better than well, far better that what a simple janitorial job should pay. The aquarium staff were near fraught about trying to keep the position occupied for as long as possible and as such they left him with a rather hefty incentive to remain.

But still—

Tap

Tap

 _Tap_

—even he, with all his pragmatism and staying power, was nearly at his wit's end. Three months he had worked here—the longest so far—eight others before him leaving, and he was about convinced he was going to be the ninth.

And goddammit, his nerves were shot to hell, leaving him as a nervous wreck.

Fingers shaking slightly, he lifted the mop into the bucket of cloudy water—swishing it around for good measure—then taking it out and beginning again. His green eyes raised ever so slightly, looking for the final place he needed to mop that night—which happened to be in front of the one tank he would rather not venture. And there was no possibility of skipping this particular enclosure either as this tank was the main attraction, the very centre and heart of Section E—and quite possibly the entire aquarium. The cream of the crop, the crown jewel of the collection.

The snobbish high-enders would notice if there was even so much as a spec of dirt on the floor.

He took a deep breath…it was only a tank. What was inside of it was separated from him by nearly ten centimeters of glass, glass that had yet to even have so much as even a single mark on it in the entirety of his employment.

With great reluctance, he slowly made his way over to the curved glass of the centre tank, making sure his eyes were fixed firmly to his feet. He would not look at it, not acknowledge it, doing so would only encourage it. Over the weeks he'd learned the easiest way to achieve this was to work with his back to the tank.

Solely concentrated on his task, the world around him simply settled into the background, a pleasant hum as he began to drift off from the lulling monotony of his movements—in doing so he could momentarily forget where he was and what he was doing. Without realizing it his movements began to slow, emerald green eyes drooping from exhaustion at the late hour, his back leaning up against the glass.

It had gone silent, eerily so.

Something moved in his peripheral.

 _BANG_

He started suddenly, body jerking upright, the mop in his hand clattering to the floor, water partially splashing onto the ground. He didn't move but stood ramrod straight as the hairs on the back of his neck rose, a chill spreading down his spine.

Tap, tap, tap

The knocking was quieter, almost like a question.

Ignore it, ignore it, ignore—

The temptation was too great, he glanced a look.

A hand, pressed to the glass, a pale face surrounded by a halo of flaxen hair.

At first glance—a really, _really_ quick glance—one might think that behind the glass there was a human being, but by the second glance the human wasn't quite so.

Palm splayed against the glass. Translucent flaps of skin—webbing—stretched between every finger, wicked talons tipping each. Smooth skin of a hand and arm only interrupted by a fin-like appendage that protruded from its forearm. A face strikingly human in appearance, encircled by a crown of golden hair that swayed gently in the water, framing the being's arresting almost angelic face. Where ears should be a pair of fins protruded from behind the hair. At the creatures torso three horizontal slits sat between its ribs on either side of its chest, gills. Further down, starting at the creature's hips a splattering of scales interrupted the pale skin, becoming more frequent and eventually joining to form a long serpentine tail, like that of a fish. Gossamer, fin-like spines ran along its back, down its spine. Its flukes fanned out behind it. Its scales glittered—even in the dim lighting—an impossible multitude of blues, from sapphire and cyan to the brightest azure.

Perhaps its most striking feature was the pair of shocking blue eyes that stared into his unblinkingly—so bright they seemed to glow.

A creature thought to be of only myth and legend, one whose splendor captured the imagination of adults and children alike…

A mermaid.

The aquarium's rarest and most popular attraction, that alone could be boasted as one of a kind, unseen anywhere else in the entirety of the civilized world.

A mermaid, or perhaps more correctly—as it was clearly male—a mer _man._

A countless many others had stood in the exact spot in which he stayed, gawked, stared in wonder, moved to tears, enraptured and spellbound by the otherworldly beauty of the creature—but not him.

No.

He, Arthur Kirkland, had never held the same awe, wonder or sentiment for the creature.

It was beautiful—there was no denying that—but its beauty was less dazzling as it was otherworldly. A face too perfect, scales that glittered like polished jewels, eyes unnaturally bright, skin that seemed to glow…to him it was too attractive, uncannily so, to the point it steadily encroached on being inhuman. Its beauty had never blindly fooled him—he was far too disillusioned for that.

No the creature behind the glass—which had fooled so many—was a monster, a Siren. Its kind in legends had a taste for human flesh, he could attest to that. It was the very thing he feared above all else.

So then why—

His palms became sweaty, emerald locking with azure,

—am I still looking?

The creatures face was level with his own, nearly touching the glass, had there been no barrier separating them they would almost be nose to nose.

A hand, fisted and raised, knuckles gently rapping the tank wall with a dull echoing thud.

The sound snapped him from his reverie, Arthur took a hasty step backwards, nearly slipping on the wet floor behind him.

The creature tilted its head once to the side in a decidedly un-human manner—perhaps in some primitive form of confusion—before following his movements, straitening up and pulling slightly away from the glass.

Arthur's heart fluttered, beating rapidly in his chest.

Don't look, don't look, don'tlookdon'tlook—!

It smiled, the corners of its thin lips tugging upwards into a beaming grin, subsequently displaying the full set of its sharp teeth, used for stripping flesh from bone—more like something akin to a shark. The _smile_ was obviously some skewed gesture of reassurance, but it only set him reeling back in fright. The merman's toothy grin faded, brow furrowing, its head tilted again in now obvious confusion, like it couldn't comprehend his recoil. It swum forward again, graceful and smooth, a pale hand once again rose to knock three times against the glass, much more insistently than the other times. Each rap made him flinch, his heart skipping at each. As if to emphasis this it waved its hand towards itself—an uncannily human gesture—the universal symbol for 'come here'.

Gritting his teeth Arthur glared, shaking his head.

No

The motion was made again, 'come'.

And his response was the same.

No.

Come.

No.

 _Come_.

 _No._

Blue eyes flashed narrowing in what seemed anger. Its lips parted, mouth held open, almost as if to speak, then it stopped, clawed fingers trailing along its throat, in particular the heavy metal collar fastened around it. At the front of the collar a small pane of glass could be seen, protecting small brass cogs that ticked away inside the apparatus.

A collar, like something suited for a lowly dog or wild beast, the only thing that marred the creature's ethereal visage. Arthur couldn't help but feel that such a thing seemed rather wrong on the beautiful creature.

Its fingers dropped.

Neither the merman or Arthur moved, staring at each other…an impasse it seemed.

It was always the same, every shift without fail, the same routine. The knocking, the unsaid question, his attempts to remain unmoved, the eventual giving in, the staring, the beckoning, his refusal…and—

The azure of the creature's eyes dimmed, its features turning downwards. The fins on its body drooped. Arthur nearly flinched as it swam towards the glass again, both palms flat against the tank, brow resting against the glass. Its eyes, its eyes bore into his unrelenting, so deep and full of melancholy. And he wanted to—needed to—look away, but he couldn't.

—and…and a plea.

Its eyes full of anguish and desperation, implored with him. The creature's fingers clenched and then it made a noise. A low keening, rumbling from somewhere deep within its chest. The sound was unlike anything made by that of the mundane, a hollow haunting echo—perhaps comparable to the wail of a porpoise—it set his hair standing on end, chills running down his spine. It pierced him straight through, as if someone had grasped his heart and _squeezed_.

Arthur choked, finally breaking eye contact with the creature, he scrambled back, heel catching on the discarded mop. Eyes wide his traction with the floor ceased and he went tumbling backwards into the walkway, neck and shoulders colliding with the bucket of brown soapy water. The moment the water touched his skin the keening seemed to shift.

 _Help me._ A voice seemed to whisper in his ear.

Blond hair drenched, short strands sticking to his brow. Green eyes widened, a nauseated feeling settling itself in his stomach.

"W-what?" Arthur breathed in shock.

 _Help me._

The creature begged.

It…it could _talk_?

 _Green-eyes._

His chest felt tight, it was decidedly hard to draw breath.

 _Green-eyes, help._

No, no.

Clothes partially wet and clinging to his body, he inched backwards, slowly retreating.

Upon seeing this, an acute panic flashed across the Mer's angelic features. The keening seemed to increase in pitch, ringing through his ears and skull.

 _Don't leave!_

Arthur clamped his hands over his ears, eyes screwing shut.

He shouldn't have come.

He'd told himself that this was the last time; if anything happened on this shift then he wasn't coming back.

Staring, knocking, maybe even the wail, he could handle…but this? This was too much.

Sirens were supposed to have magical properties in their voices, hence the precaution with the collar…but somehow it was still talking, _begging_ , it was—no!

The stress was finally getting to him, there was no voice, it was a delusion. Yes that made sense.

Gritting his teeth, he rose shakily to his feet, ignoring the puddle of dirty water on the floor, the mop and bucket; he hastily turned on his heel and made beeline for the nearest exit.

The wailing didn't cease, only swelling in volume…in desperation.

 _Please, don't go!_

His heart felt like it was being gripped, pulled and tugged backwards.

 _Please…_

His steps faulted at the door, fingers shaking as they tried and failed to reach the handle.

 _Don't go._

Green eyes blinked, head full of choppy corn blond hair shaking the fog from his mind.

No, it was not real.

Jaw clenched tight he ripped the door open with a heave.

 _Please._

Arthur knew one thing for certain then as he took a step through the threshold, he wouldn't be stepping a foot near that tank again.

No, come morning he was quitting.

… _Please, don't leave me alone._

Even as he exited the aquarium, took the various spring-powered transportation to the dingy little apartment he called home and slipped into bed with the pillow over his ears, the haunting keen seemed to follow him, relentless, tireless…a voice whispering a plea.

He got no sleep that night.

* * *

 _Come the weary, come the drained_

 _Those whose tired eyes be strained_

 _Limbs that drag and feet so sore_

 _Come to the sand and the shore_

 _Do not worry, do not stray_

 _Let the ocean wash away_

 _All the cares above so high_

 _All that binds to the land and sky_

 _Drift softly down, forget your woe_

 _And sleep down in the depths below_


End file.
